


Cool for the Summer

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Time, Riverdale Kink Week, Summer, Swimming Pools, pool boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 12:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Jughead's finally starting to feel more like a pool boy and less like "POOL BOY!" which is what Cheryl yells at him every time she wants a refill.Betty's had enough of being the Blossom house guest and chew toy, and takes it upon herself to stay cool for the summer for the sake of her sister's wedding.Too bad the hot pool boy's making her sweat in more ways than one. And although he's more of a non-fiction guy, Jughead's enjoying the fantasy of imagining what's underneath that red and white bikini, what it's like inside of the Blossom's sweet and feisty house guest.





	Cool for the Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Another kink week prompt. I mean, technically role play is probably meant to be like, he's PRETENDING to be a pool boy but honestly I just want Jughead to be a hot pool boy and Betty to wear a tiny red and white bikini and for them to bang each other's brains out. What came out was something slightly cuter and less smutty but the sex is still there so it counts!

A helicopter seed smacks Jughead in the face while he’s distracted by the unnaturally blue water just beyond his feet. Still sputtering, wiping his face of its dry flaky kiss, the next invader lands in the cusp of his hat. “Are you kidding me?” he mutters, angrily swiping the top of his head. It lands right in the water. Go figure the Blossoms would plant a _forest_ around an outdoor pool. And of course _he_ has to clean it. For pay. But still.

Sighing, Jughead scoops the little seeds into the net and drags them back on dry land. It’s not any better than sitting in the sweatbox known as the projection room at the Twilight, but it does bring him solid money towards his pathetic idea of a college fund. Or just…food. He snaps a picture of the clear water on his cell phone and sends it to Clifford Blossom because he seems the least likely to be an asshole about it. The one time he’d sent it to Penelope when Clifford was on a business trip, she’d sent back a borderline Mrs. Robinson selfie in her bathing suit. Yuck. He didn’t save it, but he did email a copy of it to Archie if they ever need to blackmail Jason, the heir apparent. Thankfully the creep factor has died down since, and Jughead feels more like a pool boy and less like, “POOL BOY!” which is what Cheryl waves when she wants a refill on her drink, no matter how many times he explains that is _not_ his job. To rub salt in the wound, she offers him a few bucks and an evil red smile with each refill, knowing he isn’t _allowed_ in the house and has to scrounge around the outside bar (because of _course_ they have one of those).

With the wind today, it’s going to knock some more rebellious seeds around, and he just _knows_ he’ll be back later for an “emergency cleaning” before their dinner party for whatever guests they deem worthy enough of a dip. Still, he savors what’s left of the day by hosing himself down next to the trailer, wriggling off like a dog, much to Jellybean’s horror, right as she’s coming outside to meet her friends. “You are an _ass!_ ”

“Shocking,” he mocks, turning the hose off. Curious eyes peer out of her friends’ car. They’re preteens, gawking at a teenage boy squeezing the water out of his t-shirt. He’d roll his eyes if Gladys wasn’t right on the porch, staring them down. They’re going to have a rollicking time in high school when the boys play shirts and skins.

“You be back home before dark, you hear?” Gladys demands.

“Yeah, yeah,” JB waves, pushing a friend further into the car before slamming the door shut. They disappear into the fun of summer, leaving Jughead sopping and the only Jones kid left to nag. Gladys eyes him disapprovingly, especially at the squelch of his sandals in the now-mud beneath him.

“You’re not coming in dripping wet. You'll ruin the floor.”

“I _know_.” He tilts his head up to the sun, willing it to anoint him with less obnoxious parents. Objectively, he knows his parents aren’t _the worst_ and he’s just in that teenage phase of needing to push them away and find himself. He just wishes he could _enjoy_ his summer instead of sweating the whole thing away because his last name isn’t Mantle or Blossom. Although there’s something to be said for hard work if Jason and Reggie are anything to go by. Archie works with his dad (and Jughead’s) in construction during the summer, and sometimes Jughead picks up a few hours because it’s better than watching Sweet Pea trying to grab ass at the quarry.

That’s what _they_ have. A former mineral soup can to swim in, while he has the privilege of cleaning out the crystalline waters of the Blossom family, who barely even use the thing. A few hours later, after he’s typed out a few meandering pages worth of rambling nonsense, he gets the text.

_We need a touch-up. Be here in twenty?_

Wiping his face with both hands, Jughead prepares himself mentally for the horror of rich-people brunch.

 

“It’s just leaf,” Betty sighs, somehow managing to resist rolling her eyes. Thankfully the heart-shaped red sunglasses act as a mask against Cheryl “Cherry Bombshell” Blossom.

“It’s _offensive_ and I want it removed,” she clips, mouth moving dramatically for far more annunciation than necessary.

Betty slaps down her book and plucks the _offender_ from the turquoise waters it swam in. “There. All better?”

Cheryl’s mouth twists in disapproval. “We pay people for that, Betty.” It’s like her name is offense all of itself, spat out like so much mulch on their perfectly green lawn. But Betty doesn’t _like_ perfection. It doesn’t exist. So she picks at it where she can, starting with the scars on her palms, crinkling just the tips of the maple leaf into the pool so fine that Cheryl won’t be able to notice.

A voice laced with dry sarcasm startles her out of her small act of vengeance. “You rang?”

Betty shifts to cover her midriff amidst the red tied crop-top and white shorts Polly insisted she wear. A pair of _very_ nice blue eyes a shade darker but no less animated than the water separating them run over her blonde bouncy ponytail down to her strapped red sandals. Cherry red. Polly says it’s a secret access pass into the Blossom family, although pale blue seems to be her sister’s color of choice with red _accents_. Betty’s been bestowed _virginal_ white as her alternate color, she notes with no uncertain condescension, seeing as that’s a color usually reserved for the bride. Expression unreadable, the boy squints and rearranges the cleaning gear from the pool house.

“See, cousin? Jughead’s our pool boy. Although you’re welcome to clean up after _him_. We all know he could use it.”

Betty ignores her cousin’s dig, eyeing his broad shoulders under a well-worn t-shirt and the shape of his slanted eyebrows. “Ju—“

“Family name,” he sighs, clamping headphones over a head of very luxurious dark wavy hair before scooping the finer leaves and fragments out the side of the pool. Narrowing his eyes, he gets on his hands and knees and practically growls at the finer crumbles of foliage Betty deposited in the water just moments ago. She flushes, horrified. She didn’t think someone would have to clean up after her small act of rebellion. Didn’t think they’d even _notice_.

“Let me—“ she stops, frozen in motion at his confused glare, the shimmering blue so bright it nearly stops her heart. Clearing her throat, she slides off her sandals, stripping her clothes off with the thrilling awareness of an audience. She lets her bare legs catch the sun before slipping them in the chill of the water, seating herself on the edge. “I can get it.”

“We _pay_ him for a _reason_ ,” Cheryl snips, barely glancing up from her magazine. “Unless you want a career in leaf-picking or stripping, _let someone else handle it_.” Betty glowers at her, wishing Polly didn’t have the bad habit of pretending to decide on an outfit for a few extra minutes with Jason. The next month of wedding festivities was going to be _torture_.

Jughead swallows hard, clearly not used to people trying to _help_ in his line of work. His voice comes out low and raspy, headphone nudged off one ear as he reaches forward with one arm. “We’d hate for you to swim in _that,_ ” he says, sarcastic enough that she’s not sure if he’s referring to her Blossom costume or the leaf bits.

“I don’t mind,” she mutters, biting her lip, trying to ignore the red nail polish glaring at her through the water. When he doesn’t say anything, she plants the faded scarlet scars of her palms against the pool edge and shoves forward into the pool, letting chlorine wash up over her neck. Everything feels cooler, less complicated. 

“Betty!” she hears her to-be cousin chide with all the authority of her mother. Jughead snaps back, rocking on his heels, unable to avoid the swell of water. His eyes are wide in shock when she scoops up the remaining bits in her palms. With a moment of paralyzing uncertainty, she realizes he might be able to see her scars. But she can’t show weakness in front of Cheryl or this Jughead guy. She can’t afford to be walked over anymore. Steeling herself, Betty swims forward, the water sneaking through her fingers while the remaining leaf bits remain. She holds out her hand, unsure if she should just deposit it on the side or into his hand. His palms reach out to cup under her fist, willing her to drop it in his hands. Without even thinking about it, she flattens her palms against his, eyes sharp on that deep blue, heartbeat in her throat as his olive skin sends heat to her core.

Jughead bobbles uncertainly on his heels, and Betty wants to drag him into this mess with her. “Thank you,” she says softly, totally out of habit. Confused, he frowns at her, and Betty sinks back into the water to hide the humiliated flush of horror creeping up her skin. Betty shoves back towards the shallow end and clambers out to rejoin Cheryl in the sprawling lounge chairs. “I think you can handle the rest,” she says offhandedly, like she didn’t just embarrass herself, and slides into a chair feeling accomplished, if ridiculous. It’s something about the Blossom house that makes her feel overdramatic, like squeezing a whole container of maple syrup on the counter and taking down the whole establishment. Jughead shakes his head and cleans the rest of the pool in silence, readjusting his headphones to avoid listening to their sharp conversation.

 

 

“Betty behaved herself today and left you a nice mess to clean up after,” Cheryl clips brightly underneath oversized sunglasses and an obscenely ornate sun hat. Another blonde, slightly older with long sandy hair, shoots a glance at the girl from yesterday. They look _similar_. Siblings? The odd girl from yesterday’s in a white vintage bikini with a knot in the front and tiny little cherries speckled across it that look like candies, but Jughead’s sure that’s just his stomach talking. Betty looks decidedly unamused, ignoring the questioning gaze of her sister and ire of her cousin. On her stomach with her feet rubbing together and her nose buried in a book, she kinda reminds him of Lolita. Older, thank god, but no less innocuous and tempting.

“Guess I should thank her for staying in a job,” he quips. Betty glances up at that, sunglasses slipping just enough to reveal eyes a more vibrant green than the unnatural grass around them. Cheryl audibly scoffs and crosses her legs, turning on her side to pose a little too provocatively for her twin brother.

Creepy family.

He gets to his work, headphones on but without music playing to see if he can pick up anything worth mocking in his spare time. Maybe he’ll write an exposé about obscenely rich small-town royalty. Maybe they lace their maple syrup with LSD. Or maybe they _are_ into incest. That’d be something.

As it is, all he finds out is that the older sister Polly is Jason’s fiancé from college and they’re planning on getting married here this summer. Whoopee for love. Cheryl demands the title of co-maid-of-honor despite Betty’s eye-roll from the grass nearby. “Older means wiser, dear cousin Betty,” Cheryl trills with her talons flicking in the air. “Which is why I know how to plan a wedding and to stay out of the sun.”

“Thought it was to avoid wrinkles,” Betty chides brightly, giving Cheryl a shit-eating smile just pleasant enough to make him chuckle. Quickly masking it into a cough, Jughead finishes up before the family fires him for disobedience.

Little Betty is being left out of a fair amount of the festivities. “21 and older. You understand,” Cheryl preens over her shoulder. Betty buries her annoyance in a book, but looks like she’ll survive without the college crowd for an afternoon or two.

Jughead snaps a photo of the clean pool to send to Clifford (because honestly he doesn’t put it past the twins to claim he hadn’t done enough for the day) and pauses, reframing his camera to include a certain blonde in the picture. _That was stupid,_ he thinks to himself, but pockets his phone without deleting it, because it’s all in the name of research anyway.

“Be sure to leave a mess for me tomorrow,” he says quietly to the blonde, offering her the hint of a smirk as he locks up the pool house. Betty shifts back on her elbows, red smile somehow gentler, slyer than the cruel one he’s used to barking orders at him. Inhaling the scent of fresh-cut grass, Jughead has to duck his head to stop looking at her and make his way off their precious green lawn.

 

 

It feels silly to dress up just to sit outside, but honestly she’d rather be out there blushing at a sarcastic boy with bright blue eyes than inside straining to keep her posture and smile alight amidst the horrifying habits of the Blossom family. Polly’s gleefully oblivious, still lost in a haze of love. Lust. Whatever it is that incites constant moon-eyes and hand-holding. It’s probably whyshe can’t see the way Jason’s sister eyes him like she still wants to take baths together. The only things Betty finds herself looking forward to are the maple-glazed bacon and the arrival of the pool boy. Jughead, she reminds herself with a smile. He is possibly the only _normal_ person here.

Feeling hospitable in a home she doesn’t really belong in, Betty makes a pitcher of iced lemonade and brings an extra glass outside, the metal bar straws rolling around the edges. Jughead glances at her from the side, then does a double take when he sees the number of glasses. He doesn’t ask, merely raises an eyebrow and continues the slow and steady work of ridding the pool of the seemingly endless stream of leaves the wind provides.

Betty perches precariously on the edge of a lawn chair, letting the glasses sweat down her fingers. She feels stupid and nervous. It’s just the same as offering movers something to drink. Or anyone at the house. It’s polite. The Blossoms would probably hate her being anything beyond civil to what they consider “the staff,” but thankfully they’re all busy working on seating arrangements.

Betty shifts her thighs under the summery white dress with apple-red flowers painted on it. The sleeveless collared v-neck style is very Betty Draper from Mad Men, according to Polly and Cheryl. Penelope's mouth wrinkled, a little jealous when she’d seen her in it, so it must be flattering. Betty can feel sweat chafing her legs already, so Jughead must be positively soaked. Clearing her throat, she asks, “Would you like some lemonade?”

No response. Jughead keeps his head down, focused on the pool. Sighing, she stands and walks over to him. Those headphones are giant. She kind of wants to borrow them for the secondary cake tasting later on. Sensing her approach, Jughead waivers, glancing over but still diligently scooping the offending foliage in the pool.

“Thank you,” she repeats, feeling like an idiot for all her pleasantries.

He dislodges his headphones with one hand, brow furrowed but his mouth curling like he’s almost amused. “What?”

“For…cleaning…so well,” she shrugs. “What are you listening to?” Betty tries to ignore the moisture dripping down her fingers and splashing subtly between her legs.

His eyes flash cerulean, and for a second she wonders if he’s going to lie. “Arctic Monkeys.”

“Huh,” she comments blandly, wishing she could remember what the hell they actually play. She smooths the skirt of her dress, watching the white material darken with the condensation transfer. The bright red of her nails feels like it darkens everything.

“You’ve probably heard them,” he nods, watching her with a certain detached interest.

“Can I?” she asks, gesturing to his headphones.

Perking an eyebrow, he falters. “Uh…yeah. One sec.” Looking over his shoulder to make sure the Blossoms aren’t around, Jughead unwinds the giant headphones from around his neck.

“Here. This is for you,” she manages, thrusting the lemonade at him in a way she hopes isn’t _too_ forward.

Jughead grins at her, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his t-shirt sleeve. “Not a bad trade.” They make the hand-off, Betty smiling when their fingers graze and the sweat of his face slicks against her cheeks with the addition of the headphones. Jughead lets his tongue wrangle the metallic straw before taking a deep sip, eyes fixed on her face, waiting for a reaction.

“Gross,” she giggles, readjusting the sliding headphones to sit more comfortably on her head, only vaguely aware of the sensual rock playing through them.

“Really? I think it’s pretty good,” he shrugs, looking down, fingers running nervously along the glass. His voice is muffled from the volume of the music, and really it’s no wonder he didn’t hear her before.

“No—not the music. Or the lemonade,” she amends, pointing to the material around her ears. “The—it’s hot, so your headphones are all sweaty.” He looks at her like, _…and?_ so she bites her lip, trying to think of something better to say. He’s probably older. A senior. Or maybe a college kid back from break. “I…I like it. The music. The voice sounds familiar,” she admits, tracing the leather like it’s part of the song.

“Do I Wanna Know. It’s the one most people are familiar with.”

“Oh! Yes!” she grins, bouncing. _Yes!_ She knows something this guy does. It shouldn’t feel as satisfying as it does. Clearing her throat, Betty removes the headphones, trying not to dislodge her ponytail in the process. The wire tangles, but she helps secure everything back around his neck, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest when she watches his Adam’s apple bob with another swallow of lemonade. “I’d love to keep listening, but I don’t want to impose.”

Ice clinks against his teeth as he nearly chokes in amusement. “Impose?”

“What?” she stiffens, ready to defend her word choice.

His face does a subtle jig of expressions, eyebrows rolling in a wave, blue eyes twinkling, lips pressing inwards. “The Blossoms have no problem texting me to come grab leaves five times a day. And here you’ve brought me lemonade and try to pick up after yourself and it’s just…peculiar,” he decides, taking a sip directly from the glass this time, straw poking at his cheek, a speckling of beauty marks only momentarily distracting her from the way his throat bobs with each sip. “Refreshing,” he amends, and for a second she thinks he _sees_ her.

“I…” Heat flushes from her neck down to her thighs, and she tries to keep her composure like the coloration is meant to match her dress. “It’s the raspberry and mint. Keeps the flavor fresh. Plus it keeps in with the red theme,” she adds modestly.

“Hm. Well, I like it. Thanks. Better down it quickly before the Blossoms decide it’s against the rules to drink anything on the job too.” He basically chugs the rest of it, pausing to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. “As much as I’d love to enjoy another, I’d better get back to work.”

“Right,” she nods, reaching for his glass, sadly missing his fingers this time. “Um, thank—“

“Thank _you_ ,” he smiles, nodding like she’s a crazy person, but an endearing one at least. Betty runs her hand through her ponytail and debates going back inside to stuff her hands in her lap and patiently nod as if she knows who the hell the McCoys and Kellers are, if the divorced couples should only get one place setting or two to fight over.

“You…can stay out here if you want,” he shrugs, motioning to the umbrella-covered chair. “I’ll just be playing my tunes and wrangling the water filter. I can turn this up until the Blossoms come around if you want.”

“That would be lovely,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

There it is, that bemused expression. She thanked him again. And she’ll probably do it again after that. But she’s so relieved she can’t help smiling back, flouncing to the chair under the umbrella to enjoy some lemonade while Jughead cleans along to the beat.

 

 

He watches her from a distance. It’s not like he hasn’t heard his playlist a thousand times over. Plus, Clifford’s over-adulating speeches about _this one time, off the coast of Pasadena_ never fail to make him shake his head. So obnoxious. He wants to hang onto every word to pass it along to Sweet Pea and Fangs later.

In her sweet white and red polka dot dress, Betty looks like the perfect strawberry-kissed blonde, tipping her sparkling grape juice along with their champagne on the deck. But he catches it, little glimpses of her disapproval, annoyance, and even amusement at the insanity of the family her sister’s tying them to. Although he doesn’t get to talk to her that day, he goes home smiling with memories as if he’d been with her at the table. Gladys suspects something, so he makes up a story about reading something funny on the internet. “Penguins,” he shrugs, and shows JB a video of the black and white troublemakers on his phone. Gladys just keeps watching his face, unconvinced. It’s not his best lie, but it’s none of her business anyway.

 

 

Jughead’s switched from t-shirts to tank tops, Betty’s noticed. Like, _really_ noticed. Thankfully only Polly seems to have caught on, shooting her wry glances when he uses the bottom hem of his wife beater to swipe at the inevitable sweat on his face.

“Looks like he could use a dip,” Polly comments, pretending to read a magazine.

Betty shoots her a glare. _Not with Cheryl right there._ “Can’t we all?”

“Mm,” her sister nods, a small smile spreading over her face.

“Don’t you have some alabaster ginger to ogle?” she scowls, arching an eyebrow, wanting to be left to her own private fantasies.

“Jason and I do most of our ogling at night.” Polly’s self-satisfied smirk makes her stomach turn.

“ _Gross_. I’m like, right down the hall.” But Betty’s mind is barely even registering her sister’s sex life, because Jughead glances over at her and she immediately feels like clenching her thighs together. Polly notices and grins at her.

“Feeling hot, sis? Maybe you should get in.”

“Stop it. I am not…” she glances over at the caricature that is Cheryl Blossom, supposedly plucking grapes and listening to a playlist in contemplation of what song she’d like to sing in her brother’s honor. Probably something bizarre, _Someone Like You_. “I am not going to _harass_ the pool boy. He’s a person. Jughead. And he’s working. I will not…” her thought tapers off. She’s sure she had a point.

“Have fun?” Betty swallows, feeling self-conscious, like she’s burning up. Turning on her side, Polly whispers, “Betty, I brought you here for the wedding, but also so you could grow up. _Away_ from our parents for a little while. I know the Blossoms can be a lot, but there’s no harm in playing around on someone else’s dime, right?”

“Right,” she agrees distrustingly. Why did Polly run after the first East Coast prep she met? She couldn’t have known he was rich. That never meant much to Polly. Well-off, perhaps, but…still. She supposes her sister had other dates, maybe not _boyfriends_ , but…

“So?” Polly prods, nudging her with her elbow. “What’s the harm in going for a swim?”

Uncertain, Betty glances at the toned, tan arms of the boy across from them, wondering what it’d be like to be boxed in by them, have his fingers pry under her bathing suit with the same careful attention to detail as he treats everything else.

“Shouldn’t…he be the one approaching me?” she asks mildly, pulling at her ponytail.

The look Polly gives her makes her think she’s 10 again, using _way_ too much eyeshadow in the hopes it makes her look grown up. “Betty. This is a different time. Guys like Jason and Jughead can sit back and let girls ask _them_ out. They’re hot. Not my type,” she adds, gesturing to tall, dark, and handsome (how is that _not_ her type? how is that not _anyone’s_ type?), “But if you want to know if he likes you, you’re going to have to put yourself out there.”

Nervous, but sick of catching onto every lingering glance or sideways conversation she manages to have with him, Betty nods. “Okay. Um, what do I do?”

Biting her lip, eager at the prospect of a new project, Polly tells her to turn around sitting up. She does, and feels the cold smack of sunscreen on her back. Wincing, she hears Polly hiss, “Keep your boobs out,” while working in the protective layer to her skin.

“Out?!”

“Posture.”

Taking a deep breath, Betty nods, chin tilted up to the sky in the hopes it’s not _too_ obvious in some porn-like way. Still, she has to swerve her straps to the side so Polly can get under, and she can practically feel her sister’s excited energy radiating behind her.

“He’s looking. Oooh Betty I think someone has crush,” she teases.

“Shut it!” she hisses, smacking around with her ponytail, but can’t help the nervous breathing and smile fluttering on her face. Feeling shy, she glances over her shoulder. There he is, slowly swirling the temperature gauge, crouched down at the pool and watching them with a heated fascination. 

Betty feels naked, but more than that, she _wants_ to be. “I better cool down,” she murmurs, pushing herself off the lounge chair. Much to her sister’s pride, Betty unknots her ponytail and lets her hair splay out against her shoulders. The stairs seem more elegant, so Betty walks into the pool, letting the cool water envelop her with such a rush that her nipples strain against her top. Jughead swallows hard and removes his headphones.

“So…is it too hot?” she asks, trying to be demure as she wipes her hair back, floating towards him.

His mouth crinkles up in a knowing smirk. “I think you know it is.”

A flutter of pride ruffles through her, and she nods. “Good thing we have you around then, isn’t it?” Maybe being forward…isn’t such a bad idea after all.

 

 

_Fuck_ , he thinks, halting in the shade of one of many maple trees, holding a pole that hopefully distracts from the rising tent down south. Quickly adjusting his shorts, Jughead peels his eyes away from the exposed back of the young blonde with the curly ponytail. Betty. Like he hasn’t already had _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_ daydreams about her. Starting, she wipes her cheek, checking her mouth for drool in a way that makes him want to suck her lips in his own test. Damn. Teenage hormones had his sex drive going from zero to midnight pretty darn quick. Blushing, Betty brings her towel up with her as she sits up, looking a pin-up. Still a little dazed from her nap, she sways on her knees.

“Sorry,” she mutters, clinging to the linen in front of her. “I didn’t—I didn’t think you’s come today since no one else was here and I—“ she huffs, giving up on the line of thought, finally offering a little shrug. “Seems excessive.”

“It is,” he agrees, trying to come off as casual with blood sitting like stone in his dick. “But that’s what you get for planting a slew of maple trees right next to an outdoor pool.” She eyes him cautiously, sunglasses discarded along with her bikini top. “Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous to nap barebacked around your future in-laws?”

“Well thankfully, they’re not _around_ ,” she drawls, rolling her eyes. “And thankfully they’re more Polly’s in-laws than mine.” She’s cute in a fiery way. Jughead allows his gaze to linger on the way her nails drag through her scalp to check for unevenness, creating it just under the surface. A little self-conscious, she smooths her ponytail and glances up at him. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know they’re your bosses and Polly—“

“Don’t stop on my account,” he insists, shrugging the pole onto his shoulder, lazily running a toe through the water. “I love me a good ol’-fashioned mockery.”

Her blonde eyebrow arches harshly at him. “Is that what you’d do to me? Mock me?”

“Only if you got tan lines,” he winks, feeling _way_ smoother now that her top’s off. It feels more informal, at the very least.

“Don’t even start,” she sighs, still not going for her top, content to clutch the towel to her torso in a way that lets Jughead catch glimpses of her ribs, the sides of her breasts. Not that he’s gawking, but it’s a nice body. “Cheryl’s made it _very_ clear I am not to show up in any photos with either sunburn or tan lines because, and I quote,” she accentuates, finger in the air. “ _You should at least be able to handle your_ ** _avoidable_** _flaws._ ” Her hand flattens out. “Like, what does that mean? Who _are_ they and what have they done with my sister?!”

Jughead bites back a grin, pretending to rub the sides of the pool for any lingering scum. “Why? Your sister normally not glued to the side of a redhead with skin pale enough to made of marble?”

Hand to her forehead, Betty shrugs. “Who knows? We’re…” she pauses, looking uncertain. “Well, once she went to college, I think Polly did a little more exploring than any of us were expecting. Not that that’s a bad thing,” she amends, legs curling around to face him more fully. “It’s just…suddenly it _feels_ like I’m her little sister, you know? And we all thought Jason was a phase.”

“A flavor of the week?” he offers.

Nodding, Betty looks a little faint. “Cherry. Or Maple. Like everything else here.” She leans forward a little conspiratorially, and Jughead gleefully mirrors the motion. “Did you know they _make_ house guests wear red? It’s like their calling card or something.”

“I’m not surprised. Thankfully I’m just the help, and thus not _formally_ inducted into their obsessions. These red swim trunks are about as uniform as it gets.”

“Their valet is,” she huffs.

Jughead’s laugh jumps out of his stomach, loud. “I’m sorry, their what?”

“They have a valet. Some guy in a maroon blazer who literally helps the guys get dressed in the mornings. Sometimes he zips up Penelope’s…” Betty shudders, and Jughead can’t help but feel sorry for her.

“Yeah. The family is…eccentric,” he offers, after checking over his shoulder to make sure there isn’t any stray help about. As far as he knows, they don’t have cameras in the pool area. “So you’re not thrilled about the match?”

“It’s not that,” she sighs, squirming in her seat, and Jughead wonders exactly what her heel is pressing against in her new position. “It’s just…our parents were always so strict. I thought that when she _went wild_ , so to speak, she’d go for somebody…different.” At his raised eyebrows, she sighs, reaching for her top. “I know Jason _looks_ different, all elegant vampire and whatever, but his family…” she chews on her lip, unable to hoist her top up and hold the towel at the same time. “They’re…they have a lot of expectations. Rules. And I’m afraid Polly will live by them the rest of her life. And I just…I want her to be happy.”

Nodding, Jughead eyes the way she clutches her top in one hand, towel fisted hard against her chest like she wants to leave both of them behind. “So you’re the rule breaker now. Little sister and sexpot Betty Cooper.”

Flushing, she glances up at him, those big doe eyes narrowing and doing terrible things to his twisted brain.

“How do you know my last name?”

“Small town,” he shrugs, turning away from her. Maybe she should get her clothes back on. It’s not like he knows how much longer the Blossoms are going to be out.

“Um…what’s yours?” He pauses, confused, looking over his shoulder to find her standing but no more clothed.

“Uh…Jones,” he offers cautiously. Her bare feet cross the threshold from grass to pavement, eyes flickering from his lips down to the string of his shorts.

“What do you like about the summer?” Her voice is quiet, shy, and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Besides sweating my ass off?” _Nice_ , he scolds himself. “Probably the lack of homework, the extra cash, the…” his eyes trail down her neck, noticing the minor beads of sweat collecting at her collarbone. “Opportunities.”

Tilting her head, Betty’s sweet little ponytail swings to her shoulder. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen. You?”

“Same. April.”

“October,” he offers, though it’s not like she asked. Almost to himself, he rolls his eyes, “I don’t even like my birthday.”

“Why?” she smiles wide, and for a second he wants to grab her wrist and drag her warm sweaty body against him to kiss away her curiosity and sate his own.

“Let’s just say I tend not to get presents,” he shrugs, finally turning back to the pool in an attempt to get his mind out of the gutter.

“Mm, but you do get free desserts,” she offers, and he has to glance back at her, the pleased excitement dancing behind her almost blue eyes now. _How do they do that_ , he wonders, studying her a bit closer, eyes flickering helplessly to her lips.

“You’ve got me there,” he rasps.

Betty swallows, taking a cautious step forward. “Are there…um…cameras here?” she asks, licking her lips.

Letting his mouth curl into a grin, Jughead lets his imagination run wild. “I dunno. Why? You wanna break some rules?”

“Maybe,” she nods, worrying her lip between her teeth. “But I’m afraid…I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Bemused, he quirks an eyebrow. “Oh? Am I involved in your little rebellious fantasy?”

“If you want to be,” she shrugs, embarrassed and yet somehow…sure. He likes it. The honest awkwardness is endearing, sexy in a way that girls attempting to grind or send suggestive selfies just _hasn’t_ been. Sure, the fact that only a white linen towel is between him and what he presumes is a lovely set of breasts _helps._

Tongue pressing against his teeth, Jughead takes a second to decide just how much a part of a fantasy he wants to be today. Usually it’s not his bag. Sure, he’s a pool boy, a construction worker, and according to his sister’s friends, a _bad boy_ for the simple fact he rides a motorcycle, but he also decidedly prefers to be low-key.

It’s not like he’s a _total_ fantasy. Betty _kinda_ knows him. Likes him. And he likes her, in the way he’s sure all teenage boys like the feisty girls who secretly undermine their asshole bosses and read like it’s food and have skin that looks soft enough to stuff a pillow with. Fuck, that’s weird. Maybe he just…wants to sleep on her? With her?

“Fuck it, follow me,” he decides, dragging the pole behind him in the hopes she’s not too far behind. The inevitable swish of linen against skin follows him into the pool house. “How long are they going to be gone?” he asks, hurriedly shoving the equipment in the corner and doing a quick sweep for hidden cameras amidst the cool tiled house.

“At least two more hours. They’re doing golf and lunch.”

“Oh my god,” he scowls. “Could they pick anything more stereotypically white and rich?”

“I know,” she rolls her eyes, giggling, and he’s so overcome with camaraderie that he pulls her close by the back of her neck and just _kisses_ her. The initial impact feels like a slam dunk for his mouth, the hint of strawberries under cherry maple from what’s no doubt her future in-laws required makeup regime. Betty tenses, moving her lips against his, responding eagerly, but the fist holding her towel keeps bumping into him every time he tries to get closer. Pausing, he looks down pointedly and catches his breath.

“You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

Her white teeth press nervously into her bottom lip, eyes shiny in a way that makes him instinctively soothe the back of her neck with his thumb. “I…didn’t want to be topless when you’re so…” she clears her throat, glancing at his tank top. “Clothed.”

Giggling, cheeks hurting with the stretch of his grin, Jughead raises his eyebrows. “Are you serious?” Feeling small, she nods. “All right, just for you,” he teases, taking off his tank top. It’s not exactly Playboy material, but he hears the little intake of breath and he wonders exactly how far this sexual and confident Betty’s gone if _this_ gets her all excited. He plants one hand on her hip, the other supporting the back of her neck as they both step a little closer. “This better?” he asks, nudging in towards her face again.

Nodding, Betty releases her grasp on the towel, pressing her torso flush against him so she’s still hidden. “You are an enigma, Betty Cooper,” he grins, delighted as their mouths open for another, wetter kiss. Her velvety tongue swipes against his, sending a delicious shiver down to his groin. Afraid he’s going to bruise her with his grip, Jughead lets his hand splay across her back, tracing the smooth skin there. “God, you’re so soft,” he murmurs against her, letting his mouth get swallowed in the waves of sensation. She snags into his hair, tugging and massaging in sharp, glorious contrast until they’re both moaning, swaying on their feet to the point the towel starts slipping between them. _Fuck fuck fuck_ he thinks as she reveals each delicious inch against his skin. He’s so hard it hurts, and he almost flinches when she presses her pelvic muscles against his erection.

Jolting his hips back so as not to scare her, just in _case_ she wasn’t exactly going this far (because god knows he wasn’t), they both gasp as the towel flutters to the ground. He looks at Betty’s face, her swollen lips and big round eyes watching him like she’s afraid to move and wants to launch herself at him all at the same time. Guessing that the lack of an attempt to cover herself is permission enough, Jughead allows himself to look down.

_Breasts._ Two perfect, pale breasts with just the hint of a darker outline around the edges from her early days on the property. “Damn the tan lines,” he huffs, panting with need, and Betty’s mouth breaks into a smirk. Fuck, he wants to wipe that amusement right off her face. Moving forward, Jughead kisses her with renewed vigor until he has her pressed against the wall, one leg hooked up around his waist and grinding relief against her core. It’s too early for the bed. He doesn’t want to scare her. It’s _her_ fantasy. Well, his too, if the hurried jerking off in the trailer during the few moments he could get alone are any indication.

He palms her breasts, loving the way they give and hold, the way her breath comes out in almost biting gasps against his mouth with each tweak of her nipples. Her hips roll against him, inciting another shiver of _fuck_ that cuts off his brain cells enough that his lips make their way down to her nipples. Fascinated, he closes his mouth against one and _sucks_. Betty keens against him, hips jerking, head thrown back in abandon.

“Y—yes!” she moans, fisting his messy hair. God, he wants to go inside of her. His fingers tweak her other nipple, and he finds an alternating rhythm pulls a _very_ satisfying tune from the blonde bombshell writhing in his arms.

“This what you had in mind?” he asks, breathless against her chest.

Panting, she looks down at him, eyes blown black with need under soft, downy eyelashes. “This is so much more,” she confesses passionately. Feeling tender, sentimental, he kisses the soft flesh of her stomach, lowering his face as her caresses continue to brush his hair back so she can see him better. God, he’s being _seen_. He mouths the skin just above her bottoms, smelling rather than tasting the remnants of chlorine while his fingers continue to pluck her peaked nipples.

“W—wait,” she shivers without pulling away. Jughead freezes, afraid that she’s changed her mind. Eyes wide, he pulls back and glances up at her worried expression. “Is this…okay? Like, is it what you want?”

Confused, he tries to work out what she means. “What _I_ want?”

“Um, yeah,” she twists her lip between her teeth. “Like, I don’t want to use you or anything.”

He laughs, his forehead falling to rest against her belly. He never thought he’d laugh this much during a hookup. Like, not in a bad way or anything.

Squirming, Betty nudges him back to look at his face. “You know…I don’t want you to feel like I’m doing this as a _fuck you_ to the Blossoms or anything.”

“Maybe _I_ am,” he grins lazily, loving the way her palm feels under his jaw, nuzzling into it.

“Are you?’ she asks, eyebrow quirked in surprised curiosity.

“No. Maybe.” He shrugs, punctuating his answers with mild kisses on her wrist. But his knees aren’t as strong as he’d like them to be in this position. He clambers back up to give her a sound kiss on the lips. “But I’m mostly doing it because I _enjoy_ it.”

“You enjoy sex?” she clarifies, skittish with each resulting kiss against a different part of her skin. Her neck. Her earlobe. He bites it, licking the non-wound.

“With you, yeah.”

Giggling, she tries to block her neck from his breath. “We haven’t had sex.”

“No? I thought that’s what this was,” he teases, fingers dipping into the sides of her bathing suit bottoms. “Eye-fucking. For days. And now,” he accentuates, slowly pushing the fabric down her legs. “We can enjoy what’s left of the summer. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” she shudders, moving her legs to push the fabric down. His fingers edge across her opening, and god damn her skin is smooth there too. Probably enforced by the wedding police, though he doesn’t know if he has much of a preference for hair. Betty groans, her fingers seeking his hardness as he probes along her slit. Fuck, it’s hot there. So wet and sleek and moist in a way that doesn’t even make the word sound gross. Just…pink, he imagines. And tight, as he finds with a probing digit that seems _more_ than welcome if the amount of lubrication is any indication. Groaning, she widens her legs, letting him pump her curiously as he lowers the swimsuit bottoms a little bit more.

“Wait! Don’t look,” she insists, clamping her hands around his jaw and keeping him focused on her face. He wants to kiss her again until it’s just salty flesh he tastes without the bitter aftertaste of cherries. “You have to strip too.”

“Twist my arm,” he needles, removing his hands from the stickiness of her warm flesh to yank down the fabric at his hips. A flush creeps up his neck at this being the first time he’s really _exposed_ himself to a girl, but Betty’s awed fascination with his lower half certainly helps inflate his ego. “Damn. My eyes are up here,” he grins, feeling his mouth get all lopsided and goofy with the boosted self-image.

That swollen mouth of hers pulls up in a grin, and with a renewed sense of energy, Betty pushes him back towards the bed. Amidst a slew of messy kisses, Jughead feels her align her wetness against his dick and he nearly comes right then and there. The irony of being a virgin about to get laid.

“W—wait. Are you clean?” she asks, licking her lips and looking at him like his head isn’t already pressed against her.

“Yeah,” he assures her. Anxiety rockets through him, hands trembling at her waist. They’re not even laying down yet and if he moves up… “Are you?”

“Yeah.” She hesitates, which seriously makes him question his life choices until she adds, “I’ve got an implant. So I won’t—you know.”

His chin jerks in what he hopes is a nod as his hands hover around her backside. Her upper body pulls away from his kiss though, hands on his shoulders like she’s ready to push him back. It’s agonizing, waiting, and he looks up at her and almost pleas for relief.

“Um…not to be like, a prude…but did you use protection? Before? Or did you get tested? Because…” she looks around the room, nervously pulling at her ponytail in awareness that neither of them have any fucking condoms on them.

_Because you don’t want to live with regrets,_ he thinks, even though it’s taking everything in him not to press up into the waiting warmth on his tip. “I’m a virgin, Betty. So unless my right hand has been doing things I’m unaware of, I’m cleaner than that fucking pool I spend all my time around.”

Eyes wide, she slides against his length in surprise. The intensity of it forces his eyes closed. “Fuck,” he hisses, holding her tight.

“I’m—I’m sorry. Not that you’re a—I am too. I just…” she fumbles, fingers tracing down his neck and onto his pecs. “You’re really hot,” she admits bashfully.

They both laugh a little at that, and he presses a kiss to her collar in affection, considers marking her there. For a second he remembers Cheryl being a bitch about photos and wants to bite his name into Betty’s flesh just so she can proudly give the finger to whatever asshole photographer they hire for the day. Instead, he sucks just enough to leave a temporary red splotch against her skin. Satisfied, still hungry, he looks up.

“Do you…want to do this?” he asks, gesturing to where their bodies are precariously balanced together. He kinda wants to black out and just fuck her into oblivion, but he also wants to be a gentleman about it.

“Yeah. I mean…yes,” she corrects, biting her lip with excitement. “I might…want to do other stuff too.”

“Other stuff?” he wheezes, shutting his eyes tight.

“Hands. Mouths. Stuff,” she says, pressing her mouth soundly over his, adjusting a little lower onto his shaft.

“Mmm,” he assents, trying not to spill into her. “Yes. That stuff. Yes to all that stuff.”

“But for now…” taking a deep breath, Betty settles carefully, painfully slow on his dick. She may be…excited…but it’s still tight. Being drawn into her despite some obvious rigidness is mind-numbingly _amazing_ , like every nerve ending is being squeezed and shooting starts straight to his brain.

“Uhnn…” is about as coherent as he gets, desperately clinging to her hips, moving to support her back, her neck, anything he can vaguely remember other than looking into her dilated irises and wondering how the fuck he’s getting paid to do this shit. Well, _while_ doing this shit. Amazing. Fucking. Shit.

Betty crumples forward into him once he’s all the way in, breathing heavily, and he immediately curls his hands around her for support. “Sh, baby. Betty,” he corrects, wincing while his heart hammers against his chest. “You’re okay. You okay? You move when you’re ready. We need to stop?”

Wordlessly, she shakes her head against the crook of his neck. “You feel really good. Like, tight. It kinda hurts. But it’s…nice. I…” Taking a deep breath, she leans back. Jughead stares up at her, taking in the wetness of her eyes, the sharp little breaths, the subtle way her eyebrows shift as the uncomfortableness melts into something addictive, something closer to what he’s feeling.

And then he hears the moans again, the _yes_ es amidst the hip rolling. The feel of her wetness coating him, dripping slowly down his shaft and balls and suddenly everything in him tighten “F…fuck, I’m gonna come,” he warns her, eyelids shut tight in the hopes he can last longer. But she’s so _tight_ …

Betty nods vehemently, he can feel her ponytail bobbing against his hand. “Come on then, Juggie. Fuck me. I want you—”

Lightning strikes sharp behind his eyelids and straight through his dick, transforming an agonizingly wonderful firework of pleasure into liquid seeking heat.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, hips still stuttering against her. Her breasts feel plush against his collar, hugging him close in the aftermath. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, stroking his hair like it’s soft instead of oily.

“Mm, for what?” he asks, feeling inexplicably sleepy and tight all at once, fingers tracing a lazy pattern on her bare back. He’s surprised neither of their legs have given out from their seated position on the bed.

“Well…for being…good about it.”

If Jughead had any energy, he’d probably laugh. As it is, he kisses her chest again, now sticky with sweat. “I aim to please.” Suddenly he starts, aware that technically, she hasn’t come yet. “Oh…fuck. Should I…?”

Blinking, still dazed, she stares at him with such softness that he kind of just wants to cuddle.

Swallowing, he tries to snap himself out of it. “You want me to clean you up? Finish you off?”

“Yes please,” she admits quietly, adjusting her ponytail. “Um, both. If you have the time. But if not, I can—“

“Betty,” he interrupts, face serious. “I’ll make the time.”

Nervous, she wriggles onto her side, then her back, so he has a view of the pink lips he has yet to kiss, still smeared with evidence of their arousal. Jughead bites his lip, knowing that right now is definitely not the right time for _that_.

“Stay there,” he breathes, patting her hip comfortingly before grabbing one of the clean extra towels from the pool house and running it under warm water before swiping Betty’s privates of excess liquid. She squirms under his attention, still sensitive, and he can’t but smile at the way her golden ponytail unravels under her. “You may have to, uh…guide me a little bit.”

“Trust me, I think you’ll do fine,” she says, the slightest bit hoarse.

It’s awkward at first, not only because she’s so tight that it actually hurts his fingers a little bit, but because he’s only ever seen this done in solo porn. Still, Betty’s face scrunches up in delicious concentration as he plays with the little bundle of nerves and he watches her, curiously playing with pressure and movement at her direction, biting on his smile when she forcibly takes his hand and moves him just how she likes. She’s close, writhing, but she can’t seem to get over the edge.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, leaning over her. His other hand, the one not currently tweaking frustrated moans out of the little rebel, smooths back her hair. She’s _so_ pretty. Like, more than sun-kissed with a post-sex glow, and he finds himself wanting her all over again. “Betty,” he moans, clamping his lips down over her nearest nipple. Ever-so-gently, he lets his teeth worry into it. Squirming, one hand keeping him there, Betty encourages him. Jughead sucks, tongue swirling with more vigor than when he tries to get the last drop of a milkshake at Pop’s.

“A—ah!” she hisses through her teeth, hips jerking as she violently unravels underneath him. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced or anticipated, like wrestling convulsions, massaging through them in the most intimate way possible. When her hips still, he releases her nipple with a satisfying pucker and checks on her, still touching her ever-so-softly. It’s really more like holding her at this point.

“You okay?” he asks, just a hint of amusement under genuine concern.

“A—mazing,” she sighs, wrapping her legs around his torso, half-dragging him into a cuddle. She stiffens against his laugh. “Is this—okay? Can I cuddle you?”

“I guess,” he murmurs good-naturedly, crawling up so he’s not quite so squished, even if it is against some _very_ nice places. Her hair feels matted, sticky to the touch, and it’s only then he realizes he really should’ve wiped off his fingers first. “Ah. Uh—I think you should go for a swim. Or a shower. Or both.”

“Do I smell?”

“Like sex, yeah. I’m not opposed, but I’m pretty sure your rebellion should be a little more subtle than going out there with hickeys and fuck-me hair.”

“Yeah,” she muses, fingers plucking at his skin. “But it would be nice. Sometime.”

Heartbeat slowing, going quiet, he nods. “Yeah. Sometime.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I kinda wanna continue this now. I knowww I have like 3 other WIP's but if you're interested let me know, okay? Perverts and romantics can support one another haha. Also I had way too much fun looking through red and white summer outfits so now I'm sad that it's fall. I just want to look good in a vintage-inspired bathing suit without looking like it's eight sizes too small. Also for whatever reason in this universe Jughead doesn't ALWAYS wear his beanie because his dad is just poor and not a raging alcoholic who incites abandonment issues. Way to go FP. Also I love the idea of Cheryl drunkenly crying and serenading Jason with _Someone Like You_ because she's a hot mess and I kind of love it. And yes, Jason and Cheryl are actually TWINS the same age, multiple years older than Betty and they met in college as opposed to in the same high school/town.


End file.
